


Mirrors (Side A / Side B)

by Aposiopesis



Category: Legion of Super Heroes - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon is inconsistent, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Experimental Style, Gen, Loss of Limbs, Mekt is ancillary, Not Really Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aposiopesis/pseuds/Aposiopesis
Summary: There’s more than one way to lose time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been consuming my thoughts for the past twelve days; I had to get it out before I could focus on anything else. I hope you like it!
> 
> Assume the events of the flashbacks in "Chained Lightning" but the setting and character designs of the flashbacks in "Lightning Storm."
> 
> Content warnings: blood, eating outside dietary restrictions, discussion of medical practices, and heavy discussion of death. Plus all the things in the tags; this fic falls short of "graphic violence," in my opinion, but the tags are still _highly_ relevant.

**I'm eight years old when I lose you to the lightning.**

It isn't supposed to be this way. Korbal is bleak rock towers and a broken moon in the sky, but our brother says we'll be fine. I almost believe him. I hold on so tight I'm worried I'll leave bruises, but then I'm surrounded and alone.

Our brother doesn't check the fuel gauge. Korbal is full of beasts that could fry us instantly, but he says they can help us. I almost believe him. I hold you like you're the world because you are, but then I'm one among none in the desert.

 

**They don't get it; how could they?**

I hide when thunderstorms come. (The sound makes me want to scream.) Everybody thinks they understand, but they don't. I feel your absence like water in my lungs. They don't feel the drops of loss leaking out of a hairline crack.

I must not be alone — I know that somehow. Nobody here knows where home is, where you are. They have maps that lead them home, but I don't have a map to you. I wish you were lost with me.

 

**It's a big galaxy; I might just find you.**

There's nothing left at home. I have questions that need answers, things I need to see for myself. I have to go. I hope you understand.

I have no home in this desert. I need to find something out there — if not you, then a reason to keep going. I can't keep waiting. I hope you understand.

 

**My head is a jumble.**

I wonder about you a lot. I don't know: are you dead? Are you somewhere I can't reach? Are you out there somewhere, looking for me? I twinge and I wonder if you're hurting.

I twinge and I wonder if you're hurting. Are you looking for me somewhere out there? Are you home, where I can't reach? Are you dead? I don't know — I wonder about you a lot.

 

**I need you to know, even if you're dead:**

Home is quiet, but this place isn't. Everyone's going so fast. There are so many who need heroes. I know I can protect them like I couldn't protect you.

Home is free, but this place isn't. Everyone's always in danger. There are so many who need justice. They need someone to stand up for them like I couldn't for you.

 

**I miss you. I miss home.**

Today, I crashed on a planet I'd never heard of, and a friend of mine got hurt. You don't look alike, but she reminds me of you. It's her selective stubbornness and intense opinions, mostly. I know she's not you, but sometimes I can't help but think of her like she is. She doesn't like it — she can tell when I do. She says maybe you're where my anger comes from, but that can't be right. Can it?

By now, I'm used to eating meat, at least physically. It's not as if we have options, but it still feels strange. The kids in our camp remind me of us when we were us. Even in a rebel stronghold, they seem so happy. I've done the math, and as of two weeks from now, we'll have spent more time apart than together. Was I ever happy like that? All I know is I keep losing moments, minutes, hours.

 

**Some nights are worse than others.**

It's a category thirteen. My friend is screaming; I am back in my room (when it was our room) with that fucking clown, and there's thunder (I hear it all the time with my powers; why is it different now?), but then I am back on Korbal, where you are dying in my arms, and I know that didn't happen but it's better than what did, and maybe if I pretend, it'll be okay. When my friends wake me up, I smile and act like I'm fine so they won't worry.

I said the wrong thing, so they put me in a windowless room. Now I am back there in the desert, alone, without you — you vanished, and they say it's another dimension, where I'm from, but I know what this is, it's hell, and I start thinking of you swallowed by the noise — there's nothing but the nothing. When my friends storm the prison, I am shaking and singing that fucking song. I swear I feel your fingers on my shoulder.

 

**We are mirrors facing each other.**

In school they say history only makes sense when you have the right perspective. You're my historical perspective, my context. But you're dead, and I don't know what to do with that. You're supposed to be my other half, like I'm supposed to be yours. It's like there's a hole in me, one I didn't know I could have (but now I do). It's been years, but it still doesn't feel real that you're gone forever.

They used to put metal in people's blood to see their veins. You are the metal in my blood, my contrast. I feel you like a weight. I hope you don't think it's weird that I'm talking to you after all these years even though you're dead. It's just that we were made for each other, so there's nobody who could replace you. You're my rhyme.

 

**This is going to hurt.**

I can't dodge the blast in time. My right arm goes numb. I'm leaking. (Is it leaking when it's electricity?) I feel the spikes in every nerve. My vision goes pink, then black. When I wake up, the pain is gone. I flex my fingers experimentally and see a shiny hand respond.

I thought I was out of target range. My left shoulder blossoms with pain. I check for blood — there's way too much I can't move my fingers. I'm dizzy, then I feel nothing. I spend a month in bed recovering. Every so often, I flex my fingers out of habit but see thin air.

 

**Would you recognize me now?**

There's a war on. I don't look like the photos of us anymore. I still leap before I look, and I still hide behind jokes, but I'm learning how to trust people who aren't you. You are crystallized in holograms as a smiling, wide-eyed child. I'm working on the thunderstorm thing.

The war is over. I don't hide from danger anymore. I still overthink things, and I still hum that song from time to time when I need to calm down, but I'm working on the abandonment thing. I've got scars and years apart from you now, but when I look in a mirror, I hope the face I see will be yours.

 

**I'm eighteen years old, and I don't want to ever go back there.**

I have to go to Korbal, they tell me, like that's okay, like that's allowed. There's an emergency. (There was an emergency ten years ago, and twenty years or a thousand wouldn't be enough time to get over it.) Someone says something about the fabric of spacetime, but all I can think of is the fabric of family, lying seers, and _maybe if I'd been in front of you,_ and then I'm there, and for once it isn't in my head.

Where do I go now that it's over? Freedom was my purpose. Was. I find myself walking away from those I have known now most of my life — and now _I'm_ doing the abandoning, which makes me a hypocrite; you didn't have a choice but I do — and I fear I'm making a mistake. My legs walk without permission for longer than I know. When I feel the chill in the night air, I know where I've returned.

 

**It's eating itself, and some part of me says this is a good thing.**

_Of course_ the hole in the universe is by the crash site. It wouldn't hurt as much otherwise. I wonder if you're on the other side, and as I do, something aches deep within me. It's pulling me forward. Someone tries to hold me back, but I shove them off. I need to know what's there.

The vortex is whipping up the sand and stinging my eyes. I cried last time I was here, too. Back then, I would have given anything for a door like this, but now I'm not so sure. What if it pulls me apart? Are the people I've met here holding me back from you? No. I need to know.

 

**This isn't what I expected.**

On the other side, there's darkness, so I light up my ring. The stone forms a rough bridge in the middle of nowhere (not an out-of-the-way place, a void). Black sand on the black rock is barely visible against the void. I hear something coming towards me.

There's no light beyond the portal, so I spark up my arm to light my way. The path is thin, and I try not to look over the edge — somehow I know the fall would be infinite. As I walk farther, I feel hard stone under the sand. I see a flash in the distance.

 

**Someone is here.**

"Garth?" you ask, like you don't believe it.

"Ayla?" you ask, like you can't believe it.

 

**Contact.**

"How did — how are you — " I can't find the words. Either I'm shaking or the ground is.

You grab my hand. "I've got questions, too, but we need to get out of here, fast!"

I turn around and run. "Come with me!"

"Right with you." You match my stride easily.

 

The path is crumbling. I've lost track of how far I've come. "How much farther?"

"Maybe a kilometer." You seem off guard. "You're holding my hand."

"Should I stop?" _Please don't say yes._

I know you're blushing. "No, no!"

 

**We make it through as the portal closes.**

My teammates are distracted. Our brother is there with a pointless cape and fists zapping, but when he sees us, his face falls and his lightning dims. The three of us hug. It's awkward, overdue, perfect.

There are strange people floating around us. I bury my head in your chest. I feel our brother's hand jerk away from my shoulder when he realizes what's not there. You and he pull away. We finally look at each other.

 

**You're different now.**

Rougher. You've got an iron grip. I bet you cut your hair with a knife. You twitch at sudden noises, but you feel more confident. The doctor dresses your shoulder, but I see so many other wounds I have to (I can't) ask about. Your sleeves have burns in them. Are they from the lightning?

Cleaner. You have an old scar on your face and a shiny new arm. I wonder where your other injuries are hiding. You've got muscles — I bet you could fight, if you had to. You finally look like you know where you belong. Your lightning suit looks like it was made for you. Is it a uniform?

 

**You repeat me.**

I sit with you while you get used to your prosthetic. It's like mine, but not quite the same. Older injuries and all that. I talk about how scared I was that you were gone. You repeat me. You raise your forearm suddenly and hold out your new hand. "Twins," you say with a grin.

It takes you a moment to understand me, and your smile is slow. I haven't seen that smile in years, and I feared I never would again. You raise your right arm — so like mine — and place your metal palm against my own. This is new, different, but that's okay. You repeat me. "Twins."

**Author's Note:**

> A contrast medium is a real-world substance used to make medical imaging show parts of the body it usually wouldn't. Not all of them are made of metal, but several are.
> 
> The timeline in this fic is only applicable to this fic and was chosen because the math worked out nicely.
> 
> Thank you for reading! This is complete, so there won't be any updates, but please leave kudos and a comment if you liked it!


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